


Ladder to the Sun

by sophiahelix



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2019 Fantasy on Ice, Idiots in Love, M/M, Matchmaking, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 10:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19355275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/pseuds/sophiahelix
Summary: Javi would be perfectly happy, living the soft life of an acclaimed retired skater, if it weren’t for how he can’t stop thinking about what Laura said.





	Ladder to the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [someitems](https://archiveofourown.org/users/someitems/gifts).



> Happy birthday to someitems! I managed to get both the cute chatfic ideas in one story. :)
> 
> Matchmaker fic isn’t always my favorite trope, and this is and will remain locked because of Laura being in it, but this scenario popped in my head a few weeks ago and it was just too perfect not to write.
> 
> Title from the Saintseneca song, which was also too perfect: _Tell my sister when I’m gone/I built a ladder to the sun_

Everything’s different in Japan this year, having the flamenco group with him. Javi makes friends wherever he goes, and his skating friends are important to him too, but there's something wonderful about having other people around who speak his language, who know his culture, who feel like _home_. He’s always thought of himself as essentially lonely in his career, but he didn't realize how true that was until he had finally people with him.

Right now, though, he'd trade being lonely for the way his sister is rolling her eyes at him, sighing like he’s the stupidest person on earth.

“What?” Javi asks, blankly, repeating himself. 

“In love!” Laura says again. “You idiot!”

Javi collapses back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The hotel in Sendai is nice, and the girls don’t have to share like they did in Makuhari, but his room is even nicer, a full suite with an entertaining area. The little party that’s just broken up was fun, and he was pleased some of the other skaters came to tell the Spanish group goodbye. Stephane’s always gracious, and the Russian girls get along with everybody. Even Yuzu made a brief appearance, a happy surprise, although now Javi’s wishing he hadn’t.

Javi looks back up at Laura, making his voice as calm and easy as he can. “Laura. You know me better than that. People always make up those stories. We’re friends.”

She shakes her head, crossing her legs as she leans back. “I do know you. You’re in love. So is he.”

Javi tries again. Even calmer this time, forcing a little laugh. “Where is this coming from? You’ve met him before now. I’ve hardly even seen him in the last year, how could I fall in love?”

Laura shrugs. “I’ve met him at competitions, for a few minutes. Usually one of you was upset about the other one beating him. But now…” She gestures. “Maybe you were always in love but you didn’t know it.”

Javi just stares at her, feeling his attempts at good humor turn to frustration. He’s been over this so many times before, with clueless Spanish interviewers and Japanese media obsessed with Yuzu, not to mention fans who think they know something they don’t, and it’s even worse to hear it from someone so close to him. “We’re just friends,” he says, finally, flat and quiet. 

At his words Laura tips her head to the side, expression turning tender. “I know that,” she says, softly. “I know he’s important to you, but it was complicated before, right? Now that you don’t compete, maybe things are different. I’m sure that he feels it too, how close you still are.”

Now Javi’s laugh is more forced, bitter. “He feels for skating. He’s not really close to anyone.”

“That’s sad,” Laura says. “I’m sorry for him, then.”

Javi’s rarely thought to feel sorry for Yuzu, surrounded by his devoted team and his family, rich and successful, always a little ahead. Maybe sorry for his injuries or the wall of hysterical attention that constrains his life, but Yuzu’s seemed happy with the way things are.

“He has friends,” Javi says, grudgingly, realizing how little he knows about Yuzu’s life in Japan. “I don’t know. We just aren’t close like that.”

“Well, you’re in love,” Laura says, and Javi groans, smacking his hand on the arm of the couch. “You are! I can see it, every time you’re together.”

“You’re a romantic,” Javi says. “You watch too much TV.”

“I watched you two,” Laura says. “These last few weeks. You’re always looking at each other, even when you’re not together. He lights up when he talks to you. You do too. You touch, you laugh — everything!”

“That’s just how we are,” Javi insists. 

“That’s not how he is.”

“Well.” He shakes his head in frustration. “I don’t know. It works for us. It’s not what you think.”

“It’s not what you think, either,” Laura says. “And you’re missing out on a lot, not saying anything to him.”

Javi snorts, slouching down on the couch until he’s staring at the ceiling, feet flat on the floor. “Hi, old teammate I haven’t talked to in months, my sister says we’re in love,” he says, in a mocking voice. “Oh, you're not in love? Me neither! But Laura said — ”

“Javi,” Laura says, and he knows he’s gone too far.

He sits back up, brushing his hand over his hair, though it’s too short to get out of place. “Sorry. But listen — I don’t want to spend your last night in Japan arguing. So let’s drop it, OK?”

She sighs. “It’s your life. I’m only telling you the truth.”

They shift into discussing the show instead, and everything they’ve seen and done together, and it’s late when she finally gets up to go. Her flight is early enough that they’re saying goodbye now, and Javi embraces her at the door, kissing her temple fondly even though they’ll see each other at home next month.

“Have fun in Korea,” Laura says. She leans back but keeps her hands on his shoulders. “I'm glad this is all going so well for you. Shows, and not competing anymore.”

“Yeah,” Javi says. He squeezes her waist. “Me too.”

Laura leans in for one more hug, pressing their cheeks together. “I’m proud of you. _Talk to him._ ”

Then she’s gone, before Javi can argue with her again. 

Korea is _great_. The food, the people, the ultramodern everything. It’s nice to be back here without the pressure of the Olympics, or the winter weather either, getting to enjoy himself in the downtime. He’s equally pleased to be in Yuna’s show, being welcomed into her aura of prestige and success. Performing in each other's shows was a smart move for both of them, and he hopes it’ll continue in the future.

Javi would be perfectly happy, living the soft life of an acclaimed retired skater, if it weren’t for how he can’t stop thinking about what Laura said.

_I’m not in love_ , he scoffs to himself, the next morning on the plane, which leads to an unfortunate spiral of wondering if he’s ever been in love, if he really even knows what it feels like. He has been, he decides, which means he knows when he isn’t.

_I don’t feel like that about Yuzu_ , he thinks next, getting settled into his hotel room, and the next hour of shuttling to the venue and getting caught up on the group choreo is punctuated by fleeting memories of all Yuzu’s least-romantic qualities. Bed hair, sulking moods over bad scores or bad training days, the way he slurps his protein pouches and the high piercing note of his laugh. 

But Javi’s brain is traitorous, because in the next few days all that is overridden with things he’s always liked about Yuzu, ranging from the perfectly safe admiration of his jump technique and determined will to the slightly dangerous appreciation of his quick, mischievous grin and finally to the frankly unsuitable thoughts Javi’s had over the years about the beautiful lines of Yuzu’s body, and how it feels to be in his presence, touching and laughing, comfortable in a way they aren’t with anybody else.

_Oh fuck me_ , Javi thinks, as he’s sipping a coffee rinkside and trying to decide if it feels more special to whirl around on the ice with Yuzu when they’re alone or with everyone watching, seeing their intimate connection. _I’m in love with Yuzu._

The sick jolt it gives him doesn’t ease up much over the next few days of the show. He’ll be on the ice waiting for his cue or in a crowd at a restaurant, and it comes back to him, how very much he likes touching Yuzu. How he’s always let his gaze linger over pictures when they show up online, like he would never let himself do in real life. Viewing their years together with a totally different lens, their growing closeness now a path to something else. He never could have thought this way while they were training, both with the top spot in their sights, but now it’s like something’s been cut loose, feelings he wasn’t even aware of tumbling fast and hard, heavy, overwhelming him.

_I’m in love I’m in love I’m in love_ , he thinks on his last night, lying in bed, gasping with the dizzy joyful terrible weight of it.

_I hate you_ , he texts to Laura, the next morning.

It’s not enough to be in love. It has to be returned, or Javi doesn’t know how he’s ever going to stand it. Well, he does — he’ll go back to Spain, Yuzu will go back to Toronto, or Sendai or wherever he’s headed next, and they’ll live the rest of their lives. But the idea of that makes him feel even sicker than when he first realized his own feelings. It seems like such a waste of love, these tender powerful feelings, like a gift he can give that makes them both stronger.

_Talk to him, not me_ , Laura texts back.

Javi’s sitting on the airplane, waiting to take off, and he probably disturbs the old woman across the aisle when he leans to the side and carefully, deliberately bangs his head against the plastic headrest of his business class seat.

It’s a terrible flight, and a terrible taxi ride, thinking about what he’s going to say. What Yuzu might say back. _Sorry, I don’t feel the same_? Or he’d probably be painfully polite — _Thank you, I can’t accept this_. Or else brutally honest: _You’re not a sheet of ice or a skate blade or a stuffed bear, so you don’t have a chance with me_.

That’s not fair. Javi remembers the kind video Yuzu sent for his retirement compilation, the real emotion in his voice when he said, _I will respect you forever_. He’s always had a feeling that people were too much for Yuzu, not as simple or receptive to one-sided interpretation as a piece of music or choreography. People have a lot of moving parts. Javi knows he himself gets by on charm a lot of the time, but in a way it’s just another tactic for not having to get to know anyone well. They’re more alike than people think.

It’s still the worst thing he can imagine, for Yuzu not to share these feelings. He knows, now, what Laura saw when she looked at him, but he doesn’t know what she saw in Yuzu. She only had those few weeks around him — how could she tell?

“Are you sure?” Javi demands, when Laura picks up the phone. 

She yawns in reply, and he glances at the clock, which he didn’t even check first. It’s early in Spain, but not all that early. 

“How did you know?” Javi adds. “I mean — what did you see?”

“You always grab the back of your neck when you’re talking to someone you like,” Laura says. “And you find more reasons to touch them than you need.”

“Not me,” Javi says, and pauses, throat tight. “Him.”

“Oh,” Laura says, and yawns again. “Hm. He smiles at you a lot.”

“He always smiles.”

“He laughed at your jokes.”

“He always does that too.”

“Javi, your jokes are _bad_ ,” Laura says.

“That’s it?” Javi asks, desperately. “Smiling and laughing? I can’t — ”

“I just know, all right? I watch a lot of people.”

“You watch a lot of _television_ — ”

“I know,” Laura says, cutting him off again. “You’re wasting time. You have what, a few more days in Japan? Go talk to him, idiot.”

“We don’t have rehearsal until tomorrow,” Javi says, sulkily, but he knows she’s right.

“Text him. Go to his room. Meet him somewhere. I can’t do this for you.”

“You can’t?” Javi asks, half joking and half not.

“No,” she says, softer. “I already got you into skating to begin with, OK? I think I’ve done my part.”

“Yes,” Javi says, immediately. “Thank you. For everything.”

He paces, after he hangs up. Turns on the TV, turns it off. Looks at the menu, orders dinner. Checks his phone, going so far as to thumb down to Yuzu’s contact. They haven’t texted in months, and he wonders if Yuzu even still has him in his phone. Yuzu probably has plans tonight anyway, because he’s always busy when they’re in Japan. Separate lives on separate tracks. He’s crazy, thinking Yuzu would return these feelings for him. Yuzu’s too busy for feelings.

Javi falls asleep with his phone on his chest, his last conscious idea the memory of the thoughtful light in Yuzu’s dark, kind eyes.

He’s never dreaded show rehearsal like this. He’s out of practice, head still full of the choreography from the Korean show, and it’s an adjustment, doing a regular solo instead of the flamenco performance. He feels surprisingly alone, too, without Laura and Sara and Antonio and the musicians, back to being the odd Spaniard out. He’s the last one to the venue, hoping to sneak into the back like a naughty schoolboy, but Liza catches him out and shrieks his name.

He’s surrounded by friends then, disrupting the rehearsal to management’s displeasure. It’s a relief, though, sliding easily back into his old life, the charming older brother or just one of the guys, and the tightness in his body eases for one blessed moment before he meets Yuzu’s eyes.

It’s a wonder the ice doesn’t melt beneath him. Javi’s never felt so hot in his life, every vessel in his body pumping fire, electricity jolting in waves. He smiles, he thinks, but it’s weak bravado, false and tugged into place as he fumbles for breath, for words, composure, his own name. Everything is lost in in the heat when Yuzu smiles back at him.

“Hi,” Javi says, an eternity later. His arm is still over Stephane’s shoulders, Evgenia twirling in front of him.

“Hi,” Yuzu says back.

“Do you want to get a coffee after?”

“OK,” Yuzu says.

Javi’s had worse practices, but not many. He strokes around and around the rink, aware of Yuzu at all times. He stays away. He’s terrible with the group choreo, pops his jumps, and finally goes back to stroking, finding peace in the familiar movements. It’s work they learned together, Tracy’s calm voice guiding them around the rink, and for just a little while Javi’s mind slips back there, into the days when his struggles were something else entirely. Quad sal, quad loop, a clean run-through. Again. Ring the bell. Again. 

He prays for that now, a smooth execution, as he takes off his skates and showers and dresses in the locker room. Yuzu’s somewhere else, maybe already headed back to the hotel. He thinks about his own words, hasty and unplanned, and wonders if Yuzu was just being polite. It’s Japan and Yuzu’s a megastar — where would they even go for a date?

Javi doesn’t get to find out. They’re herded onto the shuttle, and Yuzu’s not there. He leans forward in his seat to ask the harried organizer, and she says something about another obligation before turning to speak to the driver. 

So, politeness. Javi hardly has time to register the sinking of his heart, his dreams headed for the bottom of the ocean, before he sees a text notification on his screen. 

_Sorry. They say I have to go somewhere else. Coffee maybe tomorrow?_ (〃 ω 〃)

Javi smiles, suppressing the urge to hug his phone against his chest. _Of course. Let me know._

He doesn’t let himself hope for Yuzu’s text the next day. It’s a show day, and he has that pleasant jittery excitement, as well of plenty of other people to fill his time. The urgency of the last week is fading, and he wonders if it would really be so bad, to let this fade entirely. To go back to Spain and start again, to make this a memory and not his future. 

Then he watches the show.

Before, he had his people. They were a show within a show, a unit, separate from the rest. Javi was happy with it that way, sharing this life with his friends, finally not alone. He’d seen everyone skate enough times, and would see them many more. 

But Yuzu’s new exhibitions are incredible, and Javi feels it all come racing back. How Yuzu is special, the way Yuna is special, uniting a country and a sport behind him. The artistry, transcending athletic motion into something else. The way he works with the singer on stage, music come to life, every movement deliberate and striking. 

And madre de Dios, that body. 

Johnny’s got a bottle of Veuve Clicquot backstage, and Javi has a glass just before the finale. He feels that sharp effervescence through the last skate, enhanced by the heat of the lights and the approving attention of the crowd, all the things he loves about performing. There’s love in the air and in their bodies too, and he can’t hold back, can’t keep it to himself. 

He dresses, showers, laughs with the others. It’s late. He gets on the bus, walking all the way to the back row. Yuzu’s already there, breaking his long habit of sitting in the first seat, always the first to get off. He turns and looks up when Javi comes near. 

“Hi,” Yuzu says.

“Is this seat taken?” Javi asks, and Yuzu shakes his head, his face distant but welcoming.

This venue is unusually far from the hotel, located in a different part of town. The bus is loud at first, but the buzz tapers off quickly, everyone coming down from the high of the show. It’s late. 

Javi feels the lightness of the champagne, the successful performance, and most of all Yuzu, sitting so close and so quiet, looking out the window watching the lights. His hand is on Javi’s knee.

“Hey,” Javi says, softly.

Yuzu turns and looks at him, in the dark. Javi sways close, closer, their foreheads brushing. The bus turns, sharply. Yuzu’s hand on his knee is bracing, maybe holding him back. Javi takes his entire life in his hands and leans in, letting their heads touch.

“Hey,” he says again.

Yuzu smiles. Leans in more, letting their heads rest together. “Hi.”

Laughter suddenly bubbles through Javi, a hysterical edge from holding it in. “What are we doing,” he whispers.

He feels Yuzu shrug, letting out a quiet breath. Yuzu must be tired; he always naps during shows. Javi thinks of putting a hand on Yuzu’s back, drawing him close and letting him rest on his shoulder, but then Yuzu leans away, slightly. Javi gets ready for him to pull back entirely, the fleeting intimacy over, just a dream he can’t hold onto.

Yuzu puts a hand on Javi’s cheek. Heat flares beneath his touch instantly, and Javi’s eyes blur, prickling with emotion. He can still see Yuzu’s face, hesitant and intense, brows pulled down in confused determination, eyes tender beneath. 

“Sorry about coffee,” Yuzu mutters, and Javi’s the confused one for an instant before Yuzu leans in and kisses him.

Sweet and wet, soft until it isn’t. Kissing Yuzu is the nicest thing Javi’s done in a while. They catch their breath in between, laughing and gasping a little, hands on each other's faces, throats. He kisses under Yuzu’s ear, nose buried in his silky hair, until Yuzu murmurs and pushes him back, kissing his mouth fiercely. The ride to the hotel doesn’t feel long enough, but it’s probably just right, giving them a chance to feel themselves precisely on the precipice of being hopelessly, utterly in love. 

The lights come on and they draw apart, patting themselves into place. No one looks back at them. They wait for everyone else to get up and stretch, filing off in a straggling line, searching for backpacks and phone chargers first. Yuzu leans against Javi’s side, yawning. Javi sneaks an arm around his waist. 

“I missed you,” Yuzu whispers in his ear.

“Me too,” Javi says. _I almost missed everything_ , he thinks.

Hours later he replies to Laura’s last text, left unread and unreplied to since yesterday. _SO???_

_Thank you_ , he sends. _Again._

It’s late in Japan, afternoon in Spain. Math even Javi can do in his head. He hopes to do it a lot more in the future, or maybe a lot less.

_You’re welcome_ , Laura says. _Idiot._

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: sophia-helix


End file.
